World's Richest Man: I Leaped Across Time

Liliana moved closer, her smile warm. She gently placed a hand on my shoulder, her touch light but intentional. "Welcome, Mr. Somnus," she said softly, "please sit so we can talk."

I took a seat across from her, feeling her eyes on me the entire time. She remained standing for a moment before gracefully sitting back down, never breaking eye contact.

"So, what's this club really about?" I asked.

Her smile didn't falter, but her response was measured. "Before I can explain the inner workings of the club, you'll need to officially join. That comes with a commitment—a $50,000 donation to the club every month."

"That's $600,000 a year. Isn't that a bit much?"

She tilted her head slightly, as if amused. "The benefits far outweigh the cost, I assure you. There's a multitude of services available to our members, not to mention the meetings themselves. They're enough to justify the sacrifice. Trust me, you'll come to see it as a small price."

She leaned in, her voice lowering just a touch. "You could easily make back way more than $600,000 at your first meeting. The money is symbolic, Mr. Somnus."

I narrowed my eyes at her. "Symbolic? Or is it just a way to make sure every member is an accomplice, so no one can speak out against the club?"

"People have spoken out before, Mr. Somnus. It doesn't change anything." her response came without delay. "And, if you wish, you can leave the club at any moment. There are no chains here. However," she paused for emphasis, "it's rare that anyone decides to leave."

Something about this whole setup was unnerving.

"Fine," I said after a brief moment. "I'll join."

Liliana's smile widened. "Excellent." She reached across the desk and handed me a pen and a checkbook. "Please, write the first check for $50,000."

I hesitated for only a second before grabbing the pen and signing the check. Let's just say that this was an investment—into what, I had no idea.

Liliana took the check and disappeared through a door behind her desk, leaving me alone in the room.

A few minutes passed, and then she returned, her smile even brighter than before.

"All done," she said cheerfully as she sat back down.

She placed a card in front of me, similar to the one Rudy García had used to access this office. It had eight squares on it, all checked, just like his.

"You're now officially part of the Freewinds club, Mr. Somnus." Her voice took on a playful tone. "You can just call me Lily."

"Alright, Lily. How does the voting work?"

Her eyebrows rose in mild surprise. "Voting?"

I leaned back in the chair, folding my arms. "What? You thought I'd join some shady cult without confirming it's not a scam?"

Liliana let out a soft laugh. "No, no, it's okay. It's often that people join through recommendations." She paused, studying me for a moment. "You spoke with Mr. Johnson, am I right?" Her smile lingered, waiting for confirmation.

I didn't answer, just keeping my gaze steady. She picked up on it and continued with a slightly more serious tone. "He's the only one in your circle who's a member."

"If he's the only one, why did I of all people get an invitation? Why don't Sam Johnson or Gabriel Johnson know about this club?"

She clasped her hands in front of her. "You see, Mr. Somnus, invitations are given based on accomplishments and influence, not money. I was the one who personally sent the invitation to you after taking into account your growth and presence. But there's more to it; people seem to be interested in you for some reason. We came to the conclusion that there is something about you that we are not aware of."

"And you want to find out what?"

"No. Never. We don't breach our members' privacy. We simply provide a platform."

"Sure..." I smirked. "Now, can you explain something about this club? Or do I need to pay you another $50,000?"

Liliana chuckled. "Fair enough. Let me give you a brief overview... The meetings take place on a luxurious cruise ship. Attractive models, the finest service you can imagine, exquisite food. But most importantly, during the cruise, members can ask for favors in return for voting points."

"Every year, each member of the club is granted 15 points to vote; there is no favoritism when it comes to that. What happens during the cruise are what we call 'voting auctions.'. The voting members make requests for a 'favor', which could include anything. Then, members who are able to fulfill that favor bid on it. The member willing to do the favor for the least amount of voting points wins."

I tried to digest the information. "What kind of great benefits come with those voting points that they are competing to fulfill people's cravings like this?" I asked.

"Let me finish first... 'favors' can also be negotiated privately, outside the voting auction. This is where members can form alliances."

"Now to answer your question..." she started. "The most influential and capable members of the Freewinds club can accumulate a significant number of points by the end of the year. There are two primary ways to use those points."

I raised an eyebrow.

"One," she continued, "is to ask for a 'favor'—one that carries a much higher risk or value. Something that would require far more voting points for someone to be willing to fulfill it."

She paused, her green eyes flickering as though sizing me up before going on. "The second option is to sacrifice those points for status within the club. In essence, giving up your points can increase your rank."

I scratched my chin. "And what's the benefit of that? Why should I care?"

Liliana's smile widened slightly. "Well, Mr. Somnus, as you already know, we use the Church of Scientology as our cover. There's something within the church called the 'Operating Thetan levels.' It's all made up, of course, designed to brainwash the public. But we in the Freewinds club have co-opted this system. The card you received shows you at Level VIII, the highest in their church."

She pulled out her own card and laid it on the desk, showing it had the same black checks up to VIII, but there were also three extra red checks on top of the first three.

"In the Freewinds club, we operate with levels from VIII to XV. As you ascend, the privileges increase—better access to key members, more private meetings, exclusive deals and most importantly, you gain access to the results of the club's most fundamental research."

I looked at the card Liliana placed on the desk, showing the additional red checks; something didn't sit right. "You say there are 15 levels, but if you double-cross every square, that makes 16 levels."

Liliana seemed amused. "You're perceptive, Mr. Somnus. But that final level... it's not used."

"Why?" I asked, keeping my tone casual.

Her smile thinned slightly. "It's... just not. Let's leave it at that."

"Alright," I said, leaning back in my chair. "So what kind of benefits can I expect at my current level?"

She shifted in her seat, the playful tone returning to her voice. "Well, for starters, you gain access to certain... advantages. For example, some members of the Church of Scientology—devotees, we call them—can work for you as maids, helpers. It's part of their 'service' to the higher levels."

"Are you fucking kidding me?" I recoiled slightly; my face hardened. "How is that allowed? I'm not going to take in slaves."

Liliana looked at me as if my reaction was expected. "I, myself, don't take advantage of that particular part of the club, but I must mention it."

"I'm no angel, but there are limits to what I'm willing to be involved in. This isn't something I'm going to touch."

Her face softened, almost as if she respected the stance. "I understand."

"And what else?"

Suddenly Liliana became more serious. "New members also gain access to the first page of our research."

"What kind of research are we talking about? Is it that sort of religious bullshit that those people below are doing? If so, than no thanks."

Her eyes were studying me intensely. "Mr. Somnus," she started, her voice steady, "how old do you think I am?"

I wasn't sure where she was going with it. But I took a moment to really look at her. Her skin was smooth, no obvious wrinkles. Her face didn't show any signs of surgery—no tightened jawline or unnaturally taut skin. Everything seemed natural.

I was about to say twenty-six, but there was something about her that felt older, more mature.

"Twenty-nine," I said, taking a shot in the dark.

She smiled, a wide, genuine smile. "You actually guessed higher than the politician who brought you here."

I glanced back at García, who was leaning back against the wall casually, his arms crossed, showing no reaction.

"But, Mr. Somnus," she continued, her voice dropping to a near whisper, "I'm 46."

What... Forty-six?!

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